


the darkest little paradise

by MissShipper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But the rest is canon compliant, Dirty Talk, F/M, Feelings Realization, Half-Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Pol!Jon is a thing here, Possessive Sex, Secret Relationship, Well a bit of, cause that's just who I am, just jon and sansa sharing secrets and bonding during the night, pre-parentage reveal, starts in S6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissShipper/pseuds/MissShipper
Summary: When the lights are low, their love shines through. It’s only when it’s dark that they can learn the truth. The wolf hour comes with the building of a relationship.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 180





	the darkest little paradise

_It’s a tradition that started back at Castle Black, when his shield was everything that she longed for a long time. His touch was warm and soft under his calloused fingers, and it was easy to trust him when she’d never felt this safe — not ever since she was a child, when her mother would sit beside her petite body, brush her hair and listen to her dreams. When they shared a cup of ale, he stayed until the wolf hour, then bid good night. There was a silent agreement between them, even before she spoke the words; while they stood in the darkest hours of the night, when everybody’s asleep, there’s nothing but the truth. She wanted to say thank you then, when he stared at her with puffy eyes. He looked different from what she remembered; he was much stronger, but it was his eyes that stood out the most, for they were sad, so sad it could actually match her own. But there was a sparkle there, a thin line of hope. Against all odds, they had found each other. They would protect each other because they’ve been through enough._

_He had cloaked her then, the symbolism of the act laid heavy between them. That night, she fell asleep thinking of his body warmth and the sincerity in his grey orbs. If only they had kept that promise..._

* * *

They’ve been travelling the North for a fortnight when his face appears in her dreams for the first time. He’s close, so close it invades her personal space, but she isn’t bothered, for it’s a beautiful sight: he is smiling, and it’s special because he doesn’t smile much. And yet, he is smiling so big, and it’s personal and unique and it’s all for her. 

But in contrast with the cosy atmosphere of her dream, the reality was cold. Lord Glover had been tough, and Jon doesn’t really want to talk about it. She is glad because she’s still swallowing his harsh words, too. So they fly to their safe space: late hours, a cup of ale to keep themselves warm, and comfort that comes surprisingly easy. When they are like this, just Jon and Sansa, it’s easy to let her guard down. She is telling stories about how she had a hard time teaching Lady how to behave at first, but of how she was a quick learner and started to obey as soon as Sansa taught her a new trick. She tells him this while smudging Ghost’s ear. The direwolf had developed trust in her. It hurt her as much as it made her happy. 

She misses Lady dearly, she tells him; his smile turns into one of understanding, and Sansa is glad that it’s not pity. 

If one would tell her that Jon of all people would be the one to make her feel safe and loved, she would probably think that it’s madness. As for now, when he’s staring at her like this— like she’s a rare creature that needs to be worshipped— she is glad it was him whom she found. It was a bit awkward, at first, getting to know each other. But she had managed to understand that his eyes are fierce, that he has trust issues, and most of all, that he is stubborn. 

(Just like she is— and it’s unnerving to realize how similar they are.) 

“I need you to promise me one thing,” she whispers as the sun begins to fade, its shadows dancing slowly on his face. He immediately looks at her; and here’s another thing she’s learned: he is constant, he is always there, he won’t leave her. “That you will always be honest. You won’t lie— not to me.” 

He nods, and she gives him a smile. 

_I know you would never,_ she wants to speak. The words get stuck on her dry throat. 

* * *

The night he is crowned, he comes to her chambers — which belonged to her parents to what seems to be another lifetime — when she’s unbraiding her hair. She welcomes him with a smile, biting the inside of her cheeks. It’s not that he’d never seen her like this, but still… This kind of intimacy makes her shudder.

(Because she likes it. 

Because she could get used to it.) 

“Your Grace,” she nods teasingly as he closes the door behind him. 

“It’s the greatest honour of my life,” he says through a breath. “I want to be good for them, Sansa. I really don’t want to be one more promise of independence that leads to another disappointment.” 

“You won’t be,” she runs her hands through her hair, alternating the direction of her eyes between her looking glass and Jon. “I know it. And I will help you if you let me.” 

“Aye,” he walks to her anteroom table, pours a cup of wine, takes a sip. His voice is hoarse when she meets his grey eyes through the mirror, “I would like that very much.” 

Sansa hums then smile weakly. She knows it’s not going to be easy. “I told you to get Mother and Father’s chambers for yourself. Now my stuff is all over it.” 

“You’re the Lady of Winterfell, you should have it,” he repeats his words from earlier, when his kiss lingered a bit too longer, when she thought he would kiss her.

(When she would let him. 

When she would kiss him back.)

“You’re a Stark of Winterfell just as much as I am, Jon. You shouldn’t forget that, because it’s true,” she turns around to face him, motioning for his cup of wine. “The battle was lost but those people followed you because they believe in you, because they had faith that a Stark would rule Winterfell again.” 

She takes one sip, then places the cup on the table. By now, she knows that he’s got some insecurities but believes her words. She walks past him and sits by the fire, arching one brow as if calling him to side beside her. 

“Thank you, Sansa.” 

The way he whispers her name tickles her belly. 

* * *

She waits for him. Has been irritated all day by the way he’s acting over the past couple of days — like he’s a child that needs scolding. He’s a King, and there are more important matters to be discussed other than Littlefinger's presence within the grey walls of Winterfell. 

Jon knocks three times. When he enters her anteroom, she’s sitting by the fire, the fury marked all over her blue eyes. If anything, it made them look darker. They stand in silence staring at each other, his glance making her shiver between the thick fabric of her gown. He’s furious, too. 

“Am I to stand here all night or is there a reason for this summons?”

Sansa scoffs. “I _can’_ t summon you, Jon. _You’re_ the King.”

“I’d think you know by now that’s not how it works between us,” he accuses in a low voice, pointing at her direction. 

“Oh, is that so? Tell me when you started listening to my advice because if you did so we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now!” she shots back at him. 

Jon sighs deeply, rubbing his hands all over his face. He looks defeated, shoulders falling out of exhaustion. “I don’t want to fight, Sansa. Not today. I just… don’t trust him around you. Don’t you understand? I can’t let him near you. His presence is poison. You know that.”

And there it is, brutal honesty that makes her feel weak. It takes her back to that first night, when she was lost in a tale of a song she used to love. 

“We need to trust each other,” she says at last. “You said that the night we took Winterfell back. Don’t you understand?” 

_We still need him_ , is what she really means. Sansa walks towards Jon, his body stiff close to her desk. 

He catches her hand between his own, her soft skin is a nice contrast to his calloused palm. “I do, Sansa. I do trust you,” he assures her. “Gods, you know it’s hard for me, but believe me when I say that I do trust you.” 

_I don’t trust anyone but you since my brothers stabbed me to death_ , is what he really means. 

She understands. “The knights of the Vale. When I’m sure they answer to _me_ and not their Lord protector, then we’ll deal with Littefinger.” 

And it’s simple making that promise when she sees the trust and belief stamped on his eyes, even though earning the swords of the Knights wouldn’t be as easy. 

“Okay,” he agrees, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m going to try and avoid him.” 

“Thank you,” she entwines their fingers, a fire rising through her belly at the intimacy. When he doesn’t say a thing and keeps piercing her soul through his eyes, as if he’s trying to reason, she adds, “He annoys me too. I’m only better at hiding than you.” 

He chuckles lightly at her words then, placing a kiss on her forehead that lingers more than it should, just as she grips the hem of his jerkin with a fierceness what wouldn’t be proper. His plump lips are soft and she closes her eyes, wondering how it would feel against her mouth. 

It’s their darkest little paradise; the only place she doesn’t pretend, doesn’t hide and doesn’t lie. 

“Good night,” he whispers, seemingly affected by their proximity, his thumb marking the skin of her cheeks. 

“Sleep well, Jon. I’ll see you in the morning.”

It’s a question. He grants her a response, “Aye, I’ll see you in the morning.” 

* * *

The first time he kisses her leaves an open wound which would not seem to heal. He kisses her, then leaves. 

He waves her goodbye as she watches him go straight into a trap. Ghost sits by her side as she keeps watching until he is naught but a black point over the white horizon. 

He kisses her, and leaves her to deal with the guilt of their sin.

But —

(She kissed back.

She kissed back. 

She kissed back, and could hardly breathe. 

She kissed back, and it felt good. 

She kissed back, and the taste of his lips was better than any song. 

She kissed back, and discovered that kissing can be as sweet as melting snowflakes on her cheeks. 

She kissed back, open-mouthed and hungry for his love. 

She kissed back, and kissing him was like living amongst the stars.

She kissed back, and if they are doomed, she doesn’t understand how a sin can be so satisfying.

She kissed back, and she would keep doing so.)

When she sleeps that night with Ghost warming her bed, she realizes that wanting his brother does not disturb her at all. Not anymore. She can’t decide if that’s brave or terrifying. Is this what love must feel like? 

* * *

In his absence, she learns to rule alone. She finds it that she enjoys it, taking care of her people. It’s a tough job, but he trusted her enough to do it. The taste of satisfaction, because she’s actually good at it, is sweet but bitter. He’s not here to see it. 

When Bran arrives, he’s someone else. Arya’s another stranger. 

She thinks it’s funny how they are the ones she used to know, but Jon is the only one who actually gets her. 

Ghost never leaves her side, always watching over her, and the girl that loves songs and stories that’s still inside of her soul thinks it’s poetic. 

She dreams about him every night. 

* * *

He comes back.

Not for her, but with another woman by his side. 

She bites back tears, always the lady, because it doesn’t matter if she was high on hope (on fear of where their relationship stood), it doesn’t matter if they were heartbreak of the year. The dead were knocking at her door. And a heart can be broken, but it keeps beating all the same. 

She has work to do. 

* * *

“Why are you smiling?” 

“You just cracked a joke.”

“But it’s not funny, is it, Jon?” Sansa raises a brow, arms still clasped behind her. “That she’s prettier than her father. That you love her.” 

That catches his attention. 

“Did you bend the knee to save the North, or because you love her?” 

Something stills in the atmosphere, and he looks at her with pleading eyes. Then suddenly the rage is back and he’s shifting his feet and staring at her like she’s infuriating. 

They both enjoyed a good fight.

“You know what’s funny now, Lady Sansa?” he accuses her of wearing her armour around him, and she swallows thickly. But was she really the one to blame? When he’d been the one who’d betrayed the North? 

(The North is a part of me. The North is yours.) 

“You just said that you believed in me. Now, tell me, if that’s really the truth, then why do you ask if I love her?” 

_We still need her_ , is what he says. _We need to trust each other_ , is what he says. _I was smarter than Father and Robb_ , is what he says. 

Her own words bite back now and her cheeks turn into a reddish look of shame. Blinded by her jealousy, she couldn’t see past it. She stares at the floor for a beat. But if she’s being completely honest, she never thought Jon was capable of tricking anyone. He was always so honourable. 

“Seven hells, you rode a bloody dragon in front of everyone. What was I supposed to think?” she finally replies. 

“You were all I thought about when I was gone,” he says, voice thick and low. “Not ever a day went by, Sansa, that you didn’t cross my mind. I thought about your face, your heavy breaths, your nose. Even the way you walk, so confident in yourself within the walls of our house.” Jon takes a step closer. “I dreamed about your blue eyes, desperate to lose myself in them.” Another step. “Mostly, I thought of your lips. Of how good they felt against mine, of how your tongue caressed mine, of how you weren’t afraid to kiss me. Of how I know you imagined it long before it happened, too. I couldn’t wait to come back to you. I realized I’d only be here if I tricked her. And it’s all for you, it’s always been.” 

(I’ll protect you. I promise.) 

Sansa hears more steps thudding against the floor, and suddenly he is all over her. And she forgets the hurt, forgets the mess they’re creating, forgets that they’re probably dying soon, for they are finally, finally, finally working together against something. And damn the gods, damn the lords, damn everyone who tries to break them apart. Damn everyone who tries to put shame into her darkest little paradise. She doesn’t care about infamy, not when he kisses her like this, not when he worships her body like this, not when he holds her wobbly legs with steady hands.

Nothing else matters. Slowly, he unfolds her.

For that moment, they are all there is. 

And here’s the truth, it’s more than enough. 

This heady, intoxicating, loving atmosphere that only is created when their bodies are joined. 

It’s not a bad desire, she’s on fire and he is the one igniting it. 

He’s the only one that could, for they are wolves. They are loyal and sharp creatures, it’s true. But with her, his howl is tender. 

“You’re _mine,_ _”_ she whispers, marking his skin with her nails, her teeth, her body. “You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.” 

Her words seem to arouse him as he picks up his pace, pounding harder against her core, and she smiles out of pettiness and satisfaction. 

She is the one who takes him to the edge. She is the wolf who leaves him truly, madly, deeply breathless. 

* * *

He keeps coming to say _good night_ to her. 

And there’s something exciting about sneaking around your castle to fuck your brother. 

So she keeps letting him. 

(Until she doesn’t.)

* * *

He agrees with his queen and is leading a tired army through an unknown land.

She avoids him for three days.

Until she doesn’t. 

They are cousins, and this changes a lot of things. 

(He is leaving at the first hour of light, too.

There is no tomorrow. This could the last night of them.

So tonight she leaves her door unlocked because she wants to be held by his arms for one last time. She would take one last memory.

One last taste of her paradise.)

“Get out of my sight,” is the first thing she says, her rage exploding back at full force at the first sight of him. Jon closes the door, locks it, leans his back against the wood. Sansa sits by the dressing table, trying to calm down.

“I continue to grant you quarter and protection. And how am I recompensed? With harsh words and arrogance,” he shrugs. “It’s always a losing game, this one we play.”

His tone is low and serious, and she hates that she instantly rubs her thighs together. He seems to notice, raises a brow in defiance. 

“Grant me quarter and protection? _Please,_ ” Sansa scoffs, placing her silver bracelets and rings at her dressing table. She’s only wearing a shift, and when he touches her shoulders, shivers run down her entire body. “You’re audacious, I’ll give you that.” 

He starts massaging her shoulders but never applies the amount of pressure she needs. “For what other reason would I trick a dragon, Sansa? She can kill me at any moment, but I gladly put myself at risk for you. For the North.” 

She shrugs off his hands. “Don’t try to make this honourable. You know it isn’t. And if you could wait, I’d come up with a better plan.”

Jon sighs, sitting on the floor in front of her. 

He lays his large hand against her knees.

She still doesn’t look at him. 

“There’s no time, you know it.” 

“But then again, sometimes I think you’re acting a bit too well. It can’t be this hard trying to be in love with a beautiful woman. I saw the way you looked at her at the feast, Jon.” 

His hands travel up a bit. She doesn’t give him the attention he seeks. 

“And what I did after, Sansa, tell me? I followed you to your chambers to make you moan my name, when we were so desperate to lose ourselves in each other we forgot we were being reckless,” Jon squeezes her thighs. “I only want to love you, only you. I hate that I have to put you through this, but I promise you, I did not lie, Sansa — It was only once, and nothing since I’ve been back.”

She finally looks down at him. His hands travel all the way up her thighs, until he palms her bum and pushes her to the floor, placing her body on his lap. 

“I want you, Sansa,” he says between breaths, touching his forehead on hers, hands all over her skin. He licks her neck, and then her ears. “I want you so much, I can scantily breathe.” 

She moans in response, her whole body melting under his touch. He stops suddenly, looking into her eyes. “Will you have me?”

 _Will you have all of me, the good and the bads, because I’m mostly a fool who wrongs especially when I think I’m getting it right,_ is what he says.

“Yes,” she mutters desperately, panting between his arms. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

He gets rid of her shift before she can even process his movements. She straddles the forming bulge on his breeches and he groans, frustrated by the piece of clothing that separated their flesh. Quickly, Sansa unbuckles his belt, pushing his breeches down, and he helps her as she frees him from his jerkin. 

Circling her hips, she moans when her wet cunt meets his growing cock. His hands trail a line from her sweet mouth to her pink nipples, where he pinches it softly and then licks slowly. Sansa uses her hands to pin his body to the ground as she rides him without mercy, desperate for that release, that sweet release that only Jon can give her. 

He palms her breasts once again, her mouth parting open as she whispers his name between moans. Her brows are knitted, her lips swollen from his kisses, and he’s sure she’s the greatest thing that ever happened to him. She knows that he enjoys a bit too much when they fight and then fuck, Sansa’s punishments the greatest sin he’d die for. As if mesmerized by the view — desperate whimpers, lips caught between teeth, teats bouncing up and down in front of him, so at his mercy, so in need to be fucked that couldn’t even wait to get on the bed — he switches places, pressing her back into the floor, her legs automatically closing around his hips, daring him to bury his cock deeper into her cunt.

“You are mine, now and forever,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, pounding into her wet cunt. “And I am yours.”

Sansa gasps as he reaches that sweet bud, pressing his thumb firmly with circle movements against it.

She watches him watch their bodies connecting, as Sansa’s actions met his own thrusts to a point in which she didn’t know where she ends and where he begins. 

“You’re so good, Sansa, your cunt so tight, this is the greatest fucking thing,” he pants, smoothing her thighs. “Does it ever stop, wanting ya?”

“Gods, no, Jon, don’t stop,” she gasps. “Never stop wanting me, I wouldn’t bear it not having you inside of me.”

Her tone is serious when she speaks, and he can tell that she means every word that she says. 

“I won’t ever stop needing you, sweet girl,” he assures her, slowing his pace and lowering his torso so that his chest was touching hers, his mouth kissing hers, his hands stroking her cheeks and neck. “You needn’t worry. I’m yours. You’re mine. We’re home. This is where we belong.”

She snarls, catching his lower lip between her teeth. 

“Aye, I’m yours,” she sighs, hands closing around his arse, giving him encouragement. “And you fuck me so good, Jon.” 

He groans in despair from her filthy words, losing himself on her scent, her body, her moans, her beauty and vulnerability, pounding hard into her. 

“Who fucks you like this? Tell me,” he asks, licking the skin of her neck. “ _Tell me.”_

“You, Jon,” she moans. Only you.”

“Come for me, Sansa,” he says as her walls clench around him. “Come around my cock.” 

Her hands reach for his face, her brows furrowed as she peaks. Sansa kisses him, a peck on the lips, breathing heavily as she says, “I love how your hands evolve my hips, how you touch my nipples, how you hold me tight as you fuck me. I love how you grip on my thigh as you mark me with your seed. I love how you claim me yours.”

Her words drive him mad and she smiles at her victory, soon feeling his release inside of her. 

They lay together by the fire, catching their breaths. She makes soft patterns on his arms as he leaves a trail of soft kisses from her nose to the valley of her breasts. Sansa smoothes his black curls, her heart beating rapidly from what they just did.

“Thank you for coming to me,” she whispers softly. Jon looks up at her, the fire illuminating one side of his face and making him even more beautiful, for she realizes that she loves all parts of him - the good, the bad, the lights and the shadows. 

“Realized we wouldn’t solve our problems from just avoiding each other. We fuck, and then we talk.” She chuckles lazily, hands travelling down to grip at his cock as he raises a brow. “Already?” 

“Hmmm,” she moans, biting a lip. “I’m rapacious.” 

“Aye,” he agrees, licking her nipples. “You are.” 

That makes her laugh, her chest rising beneath his mouth. 

She smiles at him, sitting up. “Well, I was just about to sup when you arrived.” 

“You were about to sup wearing only your shift? Yeah, right. But it's funny you say that,” Jon says, descending himself from her, kissing her stomach, her waist, her hips... Licking her thighs and then slowly her folds. She’s sure he can taste himself on her, but that does not stop him. He closes his mouth around her, his nose tickling her nub, and Sansa is already closing her eyes and grasping her hands on his hair, when Jon says, his voice vibrating on her cunt and giving her pleasure, “I was about to do the same thing.”

  
  


* * *

The world collapses. 

With one last, hurtful, dying breath, their love turns to ashes. 

She watches as he leaves (again), carrying the weight of his choice on his shoulders. 

She swallows his accusations, only remembers his fierce grip. She can tell that he’s in so much pain it’s almost humanly unbearable, but this kind of pain was not new to him. What troubled him is that he caused others to suffer, and he did not know how to live with a choice that caused so many deaths.

She wishes he would let her help him. But he’s back to his old self, closed and thoughtful and brooding.

The saddest thing is that he always seems to forget that she would hunt, and growl, and howl, and kill for him, too. 

(They are a pack.)

* * *

When he’s exiled to the Wall, she dreams about him every night. She doesn’t know if he appears as a product of her thoughts, if it’s out of guilt or out of love. She always wakes up feeling sad. 

He never stays too long. 

Not even in her dreams. 

Because he loved her, that part she was sure.

He just didn’t love her enough to stay. 

How dare he give her something that she can’t live without and then leave?

* * *

In the end, she’s glad they had their nights when it was safe to just be Jon and Sansa, for now she is naught but a lonely Queen, and he is naught but an exiled King; the ghost of the Sansa and the Jon, the true parts of them, wavering off like it was only a vision. 

(Like it was never real, like it could only exist when it was dark and they only had each other.)

It’s the only console she has now. He’s not there to bid her good night. 

* * *

The nights she doesn’t dream about him, she wakes up with tears on her face. But tonight something is different. 

Her chamber is warmer, and she’s not alone anymore. 

He’s laying by her side. It’s been so long since they’ve been together she had started forgetting his face. 

(It’s why the tears come.)

So she touches every little part of it. 

“Cry not, my sweet. I’m here. I won’t leave.”

“I’m dreaming…” she whispers. “Once again, you visit me in my dreams. It seems that my subconscious will never let you go.” 

“What do you see in your sleep?” 

She holds him close. 

“In my dreams, you’re always touching my face,” she smiles as he cups her cheeks. “You tell me you love me, and that you won’t ever leave me again. In my dreams, we rule together, and you put six babes in me. In my dreams, you keep your promises.”

“Gods, but I love you. I won’t leave,” he says softly. “Not anymore.” 

She closes her eyes and rests in the arms of love at last. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> *The last line (rest in the arms of love at last) is from this poetry by Allen Ginsberg called "Song". 
> 
> Well, this's been sitting in my drafts for months now. Hope you like it!  
> As always, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.


End file.
